


Five Times

by SkyScribbles



Series: It Feels Like Light [1]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Developing Relationship, Knights of the Fallen Empire, Love Confessions, Love at First Sight, M/M, Shadow of Revan, Theron Is Bad At Emotions, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-24 03:51:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14947056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyScribbles/pseuds/SkyScribbles
Summary: Theron is having trouble getting the words out. You know, those words. Those three words. He doesn't know why it's taking him so long, but he's sure he'll manage to say it eventually. He just has to keep trying.





	Five Times

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Theron's 'I loved you from the moment I saw you' comment in his post-Umbara message.

I.

_(carrick station)_

The attack is planned, the troops prepared. The only thing missing is someone to lead the damn mission. Theron’s grown used to the Republic’s habit of snatching the nearest war hero off the streets to handle ops like this, so he isn’t surprised when, with two hours to go before launch, Darok still doesn’t have a strike team leader and is snapping at Theron to find one. He can’t say Republic organisation (or lack thereof) doesn’t worry him sometimes, but at least this is a simple matter. All he needs to do is pull up a list of arrivals on Carrick Station, and find the person least likely to die if thrown onto a planet full of Sith.

Within a minute, he’s got a list of candidates -  a Jedi Council member, some privateer spacer, the commander of Havoc Squad – and he’s almost made his choice when another name catches his eye. It’s one he recognises, one he’s seen before on the Holonet and on news reports. Theron doesn’t hesitate. Maybe when you’re the Jedi who killed the Emperor you don’t have time to respond to random SIS agents who call you up out of nowhere, but he's hardly going to find anyone else more experienced at assaulting Sith worlds. It’s worth a try.

He sends T3-G2 to find Master Zethak Menet.

When T3 gets the Jedi on the holo, Theron barely takes in the conversation - Darok's growling at him to come and help with the battle plans even as he tries to talk.  So he can't do much more than ask Menet to come and promise to explain when they meet in person. Menet responds with typical Jedi dignity, and shows up with typical Jedi efficiency three minutes later, just as Darok’s going over the squadron movements. Theron turns to look at him, properly this time, not through the blue haze of a holo, and –

And stars, but he’s glad SIS training has taught him to mask his emotions, because he has never been so aware of the beating of his own heart.

Just for a moment, he can’t stop himself from looking. From taking in the pale teal eyes, the striking patterns of light and dark brown that the traditional Zabrak tattoos make across his face, the way he moves across the room with the poised grace of all his order.  Nor can he stop his skin from prickling as Menet dips his head in greeting and smiles – a small, shy tug at the edges of his mouth that makes the bars of his tattoos ripple.

It lasts for only a moment. Then Theron reminds himself that he’s got a briefing to handle, pushes all of it to the back of his mind, and gets to business.

There’s no time to think about it – whatever it was – for hours. No sooner has victory been won on Korriban than everything goes to hell on Tython, and even once that’s been dealt with, something is clearly not right with Darok. Thankfully, Theron has a Jedi Master to hand, and that’s not an asset he’s going to let slip by.

He invites Menet to the cantina. He’s already planned out everything he’s going to say to convince the Jedi to work with him, but somehow, he finds himself going off-script. He planned to say goodbye as soon as Menet agreed to help. Instead, he gets talking.

And so he gets to know the man, as best as you can get to know anyone in a ten-minute conversation. He’s not what Theron expected. You’d think an Emperor-killer would be… threatening, somehow. Or bold, at the very least. But Menet never raises his voice above a soft and even tone, frequently drops his gaze from Theron’s as if holding it for too long makes him nervous, and shifts uncomfortably in his seat whenever a crowd passes their table, or the music swells in volume. But once they get talking, Menet’s awkwardness fades a little. He shares his past, when Theron asks (he was given to the Jedi by a single mother, a history that Theron can’t help but feel some kinship with), speaks warmly of his crew, and asks Theron about himself with quiet interest, never pressing him about anything too personal. And when Theron stands up to leave, saying, ‘See you around, Master Menet,’ he’s met with a smile and an outstretched hand.

‘Please. Call me Zeth.’

So Theron shakes his hand and returns his smile, and as he does so, everything he locked away in his head earlier comes rushing back. He can’t understand it – he barely knows the man, and this feels like something more, something stronger and deeper, than a passing attraction to a stranger. And as Menet – Zeth – turns to leave, the words spring up unbidden in Theron’s mind. _I love you._

Theron blinks. Shakes his head. If it were possible to stare at one’s own brain in bewilderment, that’s what he’d be doing now. He knows that minds are strange things, that they throw up weird and random thoughts from time to time, but this… this particular thought is a little extreme.

He regrets leaving his seat. He could really use another drink.

 

 

II.

_(rishi)_

The door closes and leaves them alone together, and Theron realises that Zeth's trembling.

Which is only to be expected, really. Years of having the Jedi Code drummed into you don’t just vanish when an SIS agent buys you a drink, and it probably doesn’t help for said agent to be your grandmaster’s son. Honestly, Theron’s impressed that Zeth summoned up the nerve to stay in the room alone with him.

He didn't miss the knowing look Kira shot Zeth, when he asked Theron to stay behind for a moment. Nor, now, does he miss the way Zeth’s fingers clench and unclench as they talk, or how he keeps swallowing and glancing at the floor. Theron can’t help but feel sorry for him. It’s obvious why Zeth asked him to stay, but whether he’ll actually address the gundark in the room… that remains to be seen.

If he can’t, Theron will do it himself. Stars know he’s never been good at getting words out when it comes to this sort of thing, but it has to be said. This… this _thing_ that’s been burning between them… it’s not something they can ignore. Or at least, Theron doesn’t want to ignore it, and he doesn’t think Zeth wants to either. But it’s still so new, Zeth’s a Jedi, and there are so many ways it could all go wrong. So many reasons Theron might regret saying anything. He’s tried to think through what he might say, and the words always seem to draw back, reluctant, on the way to his mouth.

In the end, he glances at the ground, and says, ‘Anyway, thanks. Working with you has made all this mess worthwhile.’

He looks up, unsure whether Zeth will take the opening. Zeth smiles, and holds Theron’s gaze long enough for it to mean something.

‘The feeling is mutual,’ he says.

He takes a step forward, narrowing the distance between them – then breathes in sharply and looks away, pursing his lips. Theron understands, he _does,_ but it’s hard to stop a burst of anger sweeping through him. Not anger at Zeth, but at the Jedi Code and its damned rules, rules that keep making people give him up and leave him behind for the damned good of the damned Order –

_He hasn’t given you up yet. Give him a chance._

Zeth bunches his fingers into fists again, so hard that his hands shake. Theron waits for him to turn back and meet his eyes again, then – very slowly, so that Zeth can move away if he wants to – reaches out and places a hand over one of Zeth’s. It’s just a light contact through their gloves, but it’s enough to make his skin burn.

Neither of them move for a moment. Then Zeth lets out a breath, relaxes his fists, and closes his fingers around Theron’s hand. He’s smiling again – nervously, tentatively, but smiling.

‘You all right?’ Theron asks him.

Zeth hesitates, then nods. ‘I… I think so. I just –’

He stops, swallows, and is silent for so long that Theron wonders if he’s going to drop his hand and move away. But then something steals into his eyes, a look of decision, of determination, and words break from him suddenly, as if he’s desperate to get them out before he can change his mind.

‘I’m sorry. I’m no good at this. I – I’ve never felt like this before. I never thought I would. When I realised what I was feeling, I told myself I had to forget you, and I – I _couldn’t._ The Order always told me that feelings like this lead a Jedi down a path of darkness, but this… this doesn’t feel like dark.’ His fingers tighten around Theron’s. ‘It feels like light.’

He smiles, that shy little upturn of his lips that’s already becoming so familiar. Theron feels like he should say something, but the words won’t come. They never do. Words aren’t his thing.

So instead, he steps forward, closing the distance, and Theron hears a sharp intake of breath from Zeth, but then their lips are together and Zeth so clearly doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing but it just doesn’t matter because he’s kissing Theron back and that means he’s ignoring the Code, he’s risking everything, and Theron doesn’t know if he’s worth that but oh, stars, he wants to be. And Theron’s lips are still cut and bruised and honestly, this is a little painful, but he is very definitely not going to stop.

Before he can stop it, the thought leaps up again – _I love you –_ and this time, Theron thinks it might be true. He’s sure as hell not going to say it out loud, though. Too much could still go wrong. Maybe this is all they’ll ever have, this one kiss while Theron’s lips are stinging and Zeth’s clumsy and still shaking a little.

But there’s one thing Theron’s sure of. He’s almost certain Zeth isn’t going to leave him, not now he’s made his choice. And it feels so damn good to know that someone has finally looked the rules in the eye and said, _no._ _No. I choose him._

 

 

III.

_(coruscant)_

Two weeks after Ziost, Theron is going crazy.

Probation hasn’t stopped him from working. He’s still putting out feelers, doing everything he can to trace the Emperor. But having no missions assigned to him, no one to report his findings to – it makes him feel like there’s a durasteel wall around him. Being isolated, he can cope with. Being in disgrace stings, but he’ll get through it. Being useless? That’s maddening. And the worst part is, when there’s nothing to do, he starts thinking. About Vitiate and Surro and the Sixth Line and the billions dead on Ziost and Revan and Satele and Malcom and –

There’s a reason he’s a workaholic.

His implants alert him to an incoming message, and he snatches up his datapad, relieved for the distraction. A single glance at the sender’s name is enough to make a grin tug at his mouth. The message itself makes the grin widen. Zeth’s back from his latest mission, and in one piece, and he’s been given a few days’ leave. The message is casual and friendly, and if the Jedi were to intercept it they probably wouldn’t see anything suspicious. To Theron, though, the invitation is obvious.

He takes a minute to track down the nearest SIS safehouse that’s not in use, and sends the coordinates. A few hours later, he’s inside, waiting, and a few hours after that, there’s a knock on the door. Zeth’s standing there with his hood up, and a smile on his face. ‘Theron. How are you?’

‘I’ve been better.’

Zeth glances from side to side, then lowers his hood. ‘Stir-crazy already, then?’

‘You have no idea,’ Theron says, and pulls him inside.

He wakes the next morning to the feeling of the covers shifting as Zeth slips out of bed. He isn’t worried; whenever they take these stolen days and nights together, it’s common for one of them to have to leave early in the morning, or even in the middle of the night. But Zeth promised there was nothing to call him away this time, and besides, he’s never left without waking Theron up to say goodbye.

He’s a ridiculous romantic. And Theron is fine with that.

He lies for some time between sleep and wakefulness, before a faint hissing sound and a series of muffled curses in ul’Zabrak jolts him firmly into the land of the living. Sitting up and blinking the bleariness from his eyes, he sees Zeth standing at the stove, frowning at the contents of a pan.

Theron manages to get words out through a yawn. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Burning the bacon, apparently.’ Zeth flicks his hand, Force-lifting several rashers of slightly scorched meat and flipping them over. ‘I should have taken the cooking classes they offered back on Tython.’

Theron grabs his shirt from the floor. ‘Why didn’t you?’

‘You know me. There was always more practice to be done.’ Zeth pushes the pan back onto the hob. ‘When I had free time, I filled it with more training. The idea of learning basic life skills clearly didn’t occur to me. And as a result, I’m… not all that great at cooking. Or hobbies in general. Or social events, small talk, public speaking… anything that doesn’t involve lightsabres, really.’

A smirk tugs at Theron’s lips. ‘I can think of a few things you’re good at.’

This makes a flush appear under the tattoo lines across Zeth’s cheeks, but he lets out a huff of laughter. ‘Come on. Get dressed and give me a hand, and maybe this’ll turn out somewhat edible.’

‘I wouldn’t expect miracles. Food in SIS safehouses always tastes like durasheet.’

‘I won’t ask why you’ve got experience with what durasheet tastes like.’

‘Have you any idea how many times I’ve had to eat coded messages? Those things never self-erase fast enough.’

Zeth snorts.

As Theron dresses and heads over to join him, he realises something. He doesn’t want to get back to work. That’s nothing new, exactly – when he and Zeth carve out this moments, he’s always more than happy to forget about spy games and Emperor-tracking, just for a few shining hours. Zeth brings calmness with him whenever he enters a room, and when he’s around it’s so easy for Theron to just lose himself in that quiet affection and let himself _feel._ But right now… he wants more than a few hours. Something in him wants this stars-damned administrative leave to just keep going. And he wants there to be no war, no Emperor on the loose, and he wants Zeth to not be a Jedi. Because then he could say, _stay._ And maybe Zeth would say yes.

The urge only lasts for a moment, and he dismisses it quickly. Of course he wants to go back to the SIS, and to ask Zeth to abandon the Order would be just plain selfish. But the thought lingers in his mind, of how different things might be if the two of them had been born into a different time, into a different life. They might have something a darn sight better to eat than synthetic bacon and powdered eggs dug up from SIS stores, for starters.

But as he helps Zeth scrape the burnt crusts off the bacon, and shows him how to adjust the stove heat, he decides this is okay. What they have isn’t perfect, and they’ve never said out loud what exactly it is, but it’s warm and bright and soothing, and it’s enough.

_I love you._ The thought resurfaces yet again, and while he’s still not ready to say it, he doesn’t shove it away. He lets it settle at the back of his mind as he turns his head to press his lips against the place where the tattoo lines swoop along the side of Zeth's throat.

He’s never been great at working out his own feelings. But as Zeth laughs and tells him he’s making it harder to stir the eggs, he’s pretty damn sure he’s happy.

 

 

(Only a few months later, Zeth heads off to Marr’s flagship.

Hours later, Theron receives a message from Kira.

The days are empty after that.)

 

 

IV.

_(odessen)_

_I am not feeling eager._

So Theron tells himself as he descends the ramp from the shuttle. He has no idea what he _is_ feeling, but ‘eager’ makes him sound like a fourteen-year-old. He’s ruled out ‘excited’ for the same reason. Which leaves him without a word for what’s going on in his head as he looks out across the platform outside the Odessen base, and sets eyes on Zeth for the first time in five years.

He hasn’t changed. Logically, Theron knows that the five years he’s been through have passed in a blink for Zeth, but it’s bizarre to see him like this, with everything about him, from his clothes to his demeanour, completely untouched by time. He’s even got his hands clasped together in front of him, just like he always used to when standing idle, and Theron stops walking for a moment, because he _forgot,_ he forgot Zeth used to do that, and how could he have forgotten?

He made sure he wouldn’t forget Zeth’s face, or his voice. There were plenty of holovids he could watch to make sure they never slipped from his mind, though the Zeth from the newsreels is only half the real man. On the vids, he stares at the camera like a nerf calf in headlights, and hides whatever his real thoughts are behind that _I-am-a-textbook-Jedi_ exterior. The news clips don't show him the way Theron remembers him, frowning and fumbling over simple tasks like cooking bacon, always looking slightly bemused when he laughed, smiling drowsily in the mornings at the feel of Theron running fingertips across his tattoos and the scar on his chest.

So Theron’s done his best to crystallise those memories, to keep them fresh and clear, because vids on the holonet would never keep them alive. But no matter how present he kept Zeth in his mind, it’s still so damn surreal, just – seeing him there. Right there. Five years of him being gone and now he’s _there._

Theron still doesn’t have a name for the hot, tight feeling in his stomach. It’s too many things at once, delight and anxiety and relief and anticipation blurred painfully together.

Zeth must hear him approaching, because he turns around, and yes, Theron has remembered his face just right. That alone is enough to make him smile as he glances around and says, ‘Like what you’ve done with the place.’

And Zeth smiles back, the same way he always did. ‘Theron.’

‘Haven’t seen you in a while.’ Theron steps a little closer. ‘Wasn’t sure you’d remember me –’

He gets no further, because while he’s still speaking, Zeth steps forward and throws his arms around him. And Theron can do nothing but hold onto him and wonder what it must take out of you, to wake up into a galaxy where everything you’ve built has fallen apart and almost everyone you knew has vanished. Maybe it helps, to have someone here who knows you, who remembers the small things about you.

Theron hopes it helps. He’d like to be the one who helps.

‘It’s great to see you again, Theron,’ Zeth says, his voice a little muffled by the fact that his face is pressed against Theron’s shoulder. Then, more quietly, ‘I got your message.’

Ah. That message. The one he sent after Lana contacted him to tell him that Zeth was alive. Not the most coherent thing he’s ever written, but he couldn’t imagine not doing it. He’s thought a lot, over the last few years, about whether Zeth was conscious at all in his carbonite prison, whether he knew how trapped and alone he was. And he’s thought even more about what it would be like for him, when he woke up and found the galaxy so changed. So he sent the message, hoping he could say in written words what he’d left too late to say out loud. At one point he even typed out the truth. _I love you._ Then he stared at it for a minute, and erased it, replacing it with _I care about you._

He thought for a long time about why he couldn’t write those words. In the end, he realised it was probably the same reason he never said them aloud. There’s something final about _I love you,_ something that crosses every line, something that commits and asks for commitment. If he’d said _I love you_ every time it nearly sprang to his lips, he’d have been saying too much. He’d have been saying, _choose me. Choose me over the Order. Choose me always. Please._

And the thought of asking that is terrifying. Because the truth is... he's used to not being chosen. 

He thinks that's why he could never get the words out. Some part of him feared, even expected, that if he said it, Zeth would back away. It wouldn’t be the first time a Jedi wanted to love him, decided the Order was more important, and left him behind. But he thinks he’s ready to say it now, and not just because there’s barely a Jedi Order left for Zeth to choose, but because when Darth Marr’s flagship vanished in flames out in Wild Space, Theron was left to kick himself for five years over not taking that risk.

Still, he doesn’t say it now. They need some time. Maybe it’ll be days, maybe weeks, maybe months, but he’ll say it. And when he does… maybe Zeth won’t say it back. Maybe he’ll look at the floor, and bite his lip, and talk about the Dark Side and temptation and detachment all the things that made Satele let Theron go, all those years ago.

But from the way Zeth’s holding him, he doesn’t think he needs to worry.

 

 

V.

_(odessen, again)_

He finds Zeth out on the platform, sitting with his legs dangling over the edge. Hearing Theron’s approach, he looks up, smiles, and says, ‘I really think we should see about getting railings built here. Have you ever noticed how few railings there are? Anywhere in the galaxy?’

Theron rolls his eyes as he sits down beside him. ‘You just deposed the Eternal Emperor, and you’re worried about health and safety?’

'After a day of fighting Valkorion’s children, it can be relaxing to think about the small things.’

He presses his hands together, staring intently at his clasped fingers, and Theron frowns. ‘You all right?’

‘I’m all right. Just a little worried about Senya and Arcann.’

‘You think he’ll come for us again?’

Zeth’s silent for a moment. ‘Senya believes he can be redeemed, and I trust her judgement,’ he says at last. ‘Arcann’s been manipulated and controlled by his father, just as I was when Vitiate once controlled me. I broke his control then, so… I know it’s possible, and I hope Arcann can do it. I’m just worried about what it’ll do to Senya if he can’t.’ He lets out a long breath. ‘And then there’s Koth. He still isn’t speaking to me, but… I know all I can do is give him time. So apart from that… I’m fine. Actually –’ He stops, seems to consider, then looks up suddenly. ‘Actually, I’m _great._ I know we’ve still got a long way to go, Vaylin’s probably going to be even harder to deal with than her brother, but for now… we did something important. So, yes. Great.’

He sits there smiling for a moment, seeming slightly dazed by his own cheerfulness, then looks at Theron with amusement flickering in his eyes. ‘Despite your best efforts to kill me.’

‘Don’t start.  You were out of range. And you’re alive, aren’t you?’

‘Barely.’ Zeth’s grinning now, which is something he doesn’t do enough. ‘I’m never letting you take control of the omni-cannon again. I promised to be careful, and you go shooting at me with a superweapon.’

Theron rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to respond. And then he stops. Zeth touches his arm, concern flickering over his face. ‘Are _you_ all right?’

And Theron looks at him. The sun’s turning red on the horizon as it sets, and it’s casting a countour of light over the edges of Zeth’s face, putting flecks of amber into his eyes. He’s beautiful. And his face is familiar, comforting, and Theron’s insides twist into a knot as he wonders how to reply.

_Would you listen if I asked you to be careful?_ he said, as they prepared for their attack. And Zeth said it depended on how he was asked, so Theron kissed him, there in front of everyone, and Zeth smiled and promised. _I’ll be careful._

But Theron knows he might not always have that choice. Some day he might not come back. People like him have to choose between themselves and the galaxy, and Zeth will always choose the galaxy, and that thought _hurts._ It hurts to think of a life where he can’t sit on this platform next to Zeth and see traces of the sunset reflected in his eyes. A life where he can’t hear those rare laughs, or feel safe in a firefight because he knows two blue lightsabres have his back covered. A life where he can’t hold Zeth at night and feel the strange double beat of a Zabrak’s two hearts under his skin.

And finally, he understands why he can never say _those_ words. It’s not just that he’s afraid that Zeth won’t choose him.  It’s that part of him has been afraid to choose Zeth. Zeth, who might one day go somewhere Theron can’t follow.

But in the end, it doesn’t make a difference. Something in him chose Zeth long ago, right from the moment he saw him. The words are just a description of what’s already there, and an inadequate one at that. Feelings are far too huge to be expressed in bites of sound. And yes, maybe if he says them, he’s letting himself in for a world of pain, but there could be joy as well, and Theron’s so damn unused to joy that he reckons it’s worth the risk.

‘I’m all right,’ he says. ‘I just – ’

He looks down, draws in a breath. Then he looks back up, and lifts his hand to run his fingertips over the places where the sunset light’s warm and reddish on Zeth’s cheek. ‘I love you.’

Zeth stares at him for a heartbeat. And then his face breaks into a smile. He lets out a single, soft gulp of laughter, the breathless kind of laughter that means surprise and joy, not mockery.

‘I love you too,’ he says. Which Theron knew already, of course.

Another moment of silence. Then Zeth’s hands are on either side of Theron’s face, gentle but firm, and he’s kissing Theron with a surety and a fierceness that’s worlds away from that first tentative kiss they shared. And the evening sun’s warm on them both, and they’re one step closer to saving the galaxy, and Theron has never felt so damned lucky to just be alive. Like every painful thing his life has been worth it, just so he can be here in this moment.

It may have taken him a while to get the words out. But this, Theron thinks smugly, as he pulls Zeth closer, _this_ is worth the wait.


End file.
